


The Dreams of a Farmer

by Centeris2



Category: The Dreamer (Webcomic)
Genre: Time Travel, although that already happens in the main comic so that's no surprise now is it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centeris2/pseuds/Centeris2
Summary: Major Alan Warren, turned spy due to his own insistence on keeping Beatrice Whaley safe, finds himself in New York.But that's not where he wakes up.(Written as a long overdue gift for a friend and thus terrible title and it may also receive additional chapters without notice)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend, decided to post it, and I have no idea if I'll add more than 6 chapters. I only really had this much planned out, and not much of a plot. It was mostly scenes in my head. Maybe as The Dreamer updates I'll come up with new scenes to add, but for now, it's just this.

The last thing Major Alan Warren was aware of before drifting off to sleep was fading sensations: the taste of flip still lingering on his tongue, the humidity of the city air, a pounding headache that was no doubt the result of stress and not the amount of booze he had consumed before collapsing in his bed.

The first thing he was aware of when he came out of his sleep was a foreign noise: a harsh chirping unlike any bird he knew. It startled him so thoroughly that he jerked from his sleep, frantically searching for first the noise and second something familiar. The scratchy wool sheets had turned soft like silk a high society woman would wear, and the room was unfamiliar to him. There were strange noises and things and clothes strewn about that made no sense to him. This wasn’t New York, where was he?

Footsteps and a familiar voice made him stumble about the room, realizing he was horribly naked except for some very small trousers. Where were his clothes? Who was here? It sounded like his cousin, but what would Jack be doing here?

“Cuz!” The voice was undeniably his cousin John, and Alan flung the door open before John could even knock.

“Up bri-HEY!” John protested to being snatched and pulled into the room, door slammed shut behind.

“John, what are you doing here? Where are we?” Alan whispered, frantic and staring at his brother, gripping him for good measure just to make sure John was really there.

“Al, what the hell?” John raised an eye brow and clearly did not understand the importance given the monotone and unamused voice.

“I was in New York, with Beatrice, why are you here? Where are we? You should be with the army!”

John continued to stare at Alan in total bewilderment before mumbling, “we did not drink nearly enough last night for this.”

“What is going on?” Alan begged before John took hold of Alan’s hands and pulled them off his shoulders.

“Alan, what do you remember about last night?” John pinched the bridge of his nose and Alan felt his stomach churn in fear.

“Miss Whaley and I reached New York yesterday to stay with her uncle, Hercules Mulligan. He is currently being held by the British, but his family provided us with dinner and rooms,” Alan explained, disheartened by John’s continued confusion.

“Who is Miss Whaley?”

“Jack, stop joking!”

“No, you stop joking! Last night you and I had a good night of drinking together before we passed out. There were no girls with us! Don’t you remember?” John’s critical and annoyed expression remained for several moments before he blinked, face going blank as he thought before stating: “You don’t remember.”

“No,” it was a breath from Alan. He could feel himself go pale as he poorly restrained his panic.

“What’s your name?” John asked in a voice Alan recognized as the voice he would use addressing his patients.

“Alan Warren. And you are John Warren, my cousin.”

“At least you remember our names. How old are you?”

“27.”

“And when were you born?”

“In the year of our Lord, 1749.”

There was a period of stunned silence before John muttered, “what the fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, you honest to God believe you were born in the 1700s?” the glare from Alan made John roll his eyes with a deep sigh, “of course you do.”

John took another drink of coffee, or what he said was coffee but Alan wasn’t sure how a powder poured into a ‘coffee machine’ made coffee. 

“This must be a dream,” Alan said, a conclusion he had stated aloud several times since he and John had left what was supposed to be his bedroom to go downstairs to his kitchen. It was all foreign to him, he did not recognize this farmhouse that was supposed to be his.

“You’ve said that, but that’s not possible,” John argued and pointed at himself, “If you were dreaming, then why am I real?”

“Maybe you’re not real.”

“Well there we have a disagreement, I know I’m real, and I know you are real. If this was really a dream, you should have been able to jerk yourself awake by now. You’ve certainly pinched yourself more than enough times,” John offered Alan the cup of coffee he had made just in case, but again Alan refused.

“Fine, if this isn’t a dream, then you explain what is going on. You’re still a doctor after all,” Alan muttered sourly, not enjoying the idea of thinking he might be insane.

“Well either you’ve experienced some sort of terrible trauma that made your mind come up with its own new construction of memories, or you’re experiencing some form of psychosis for no reason. Now, have you had anything terribly traumatic happen recently?”

“I’ve been fighting in a war against the British,” Alan rolled his eyes before he groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“I knew Beatrice drove me crazy, I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”

“That woman, you keep mentioning her. Who is she?” John asked, now drinking from Alan’s rejected coffee.

“Miss Beatrice Whaley. I’ve, we’ve, known her since she was 14 years old. She got herself involved in the fighting by telling Joseph and I about the lobster backs going for the powder at Concorde, and was abducted by General Howe for it.”

“Concorde? As in Lexington and Concorde? Damn, brave girl.” Alan didn’t appreciate what was supposed to be a compliment to Miss Whaley.

“She’s recklessly putting her life in danger! First the powder, now in New York! I want her back in Boston where she will be safe with her family!”

“From what I remember from history class, I don’t think anywhere was really safe during the Revolutionary war,” John muttered before finishing Alan’s cup of coffee.

“The way I see it, for some reason you’ve experience total amnesia of your life up until this morning, and your mind is filling in the pieces with made up and rather fantastical memories. Or,” he continued before Alan could form an objection, “for some reason you really are from over 200 years ago. Maybe Great Great Great however many greats Grandfather Alan Warren isn’t just a namesake for you. But!” John slammed a hand on the table, “what I think doesn’t matter!”

“It doesn’t?”

“Regardless of how or why, you are here now, whether you believe it is real or a dream. Which means you need to learn how to blend in and function in the 21st century. Who knows, maybe your memories will come back.” John seemed especially hopeful at the idea of memories returning.

“Or maybe I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.” This is what Alan hoped, he didn’t like this dream one bit.

“I sincerely hope not, I am quite positive I am alive and real, I’d hate to find out I’m not. Either way, what’s the harm of trying? You’re a simple farmer in this world, that sounds like a welcome break from the hell of war.” John shuddered as he muttered to himself, “I can’t even imagine the medical practices of that era, it’s a miracle more people didn’t die of infection…”

“So, what? What do I do to blend in?”

John thought for a moment, looking at Alan up and down before he pointed to the stairs, “first things first, let’s get you dressed. Then I suggest you start reading manuals while I’m at work at the hospital. I’ll teach you how to drive tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

Much to Alan’s surprise, the dreams didn’t stop. Every night he would fall asleep in New York City, and he would awaken at his farm outside of Boston. John, while no doubt thinking Alan was raving mad, was supportive nonetheless: teaching Alan about the bizarre world he found himself in while also asking Alan every day about his memories. Did he remember his birthday, did he remember their trip to Mount Rushmore as children, what was he doing in the Continental Army, what family was there in the past compared to this world? 

If Alan worried he wouldn’t blend in well in New York he had no fear after a few dreams in this world, the emergency lectures and lessons to blend in with an entirely different world made the notion of blending in to his real world easy by comparison. At least in New York he would never have to learn how to operate a car, or a phone, or a remote, or even a shower. After several rather embarrassing hiccups he managed to at least get the hang of things. Or at least he wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb. 

The distraction was also welcome, and while his idle thoughts were dominated by New York and Beatrice he was able to put the worrying aside when he focused on the tomes of instructional material so he could learn how to operate a thing called a microwave and an automobile. Perhaps this was a gift from Providence, a break and maybe a vision of what the future of the country might be if they won. At the very least, Alan was sure that God Almighty Himself was with him whenever he tried to drive that strange horseless carriage. What was wrong with horses, anyway? John called it muscle memory, Alan called it The Will of God that they not drive right off the road. 

Providence or not, as the days turned into weeks Alan found himself able to blend in and use the magic map (John called it a GPS) to get around. When John was sufficiently pleased with Alan’s coordination with the car, he had Alan visit him at work for lunch every day. This was after John had brought Alan to the hospital several times, just to make sure Alan knew the way and would not get lost. It was an easy thing to do, the dream world he found himself in every night was more twisted and complicated, and much noisier, than anything he could have imagined. 

Even the hospital his cousin worked at was more crowded than all of New York, and full of strange people he never imagined before. He waited in his usual haunt in the main lobby of the hospital, watching as people with a rainbow of hair colors, art on their bodies, and strange skin tones passed through. He knew the world was bigger than the Africans, Indians, and Europeans, but seeing so many colors was mind boggling. Even though John tried to disband the wonder by showing him people around the world, it never faded from Alan’s mind as he watched. 

According to John’s message (delivered on the “cell phone” by a “text message”) he wouldn’t be free to come down for another 20 minutes and included a yellow face that frowned at Alan from the little bubble on the flat surface. John called it a “smiley” but Alan didn’t understand why, it wasn’t smiling. When John elaborated that it was just a type of “emoji” he decided to stop explaining such things to Alan based on Alan’s bewilderment. Alan took that to mean that emojis were not important if they were not worth explaining in detail.

And so Alan found himself people watching while he waited, which was not such a terrible thing to do in order to pass the time. In the busy hospital no one scrutinized him or dragged him off for interrogation. In fact, most people barely gave him a second glance assuming they even offered him a first one. Hiding in plain sight, it seemed much easier in this world where there were so many different sizes and shapes and colors and types of people. 

“Tom, get the car?” the words were muddled in with all the other conversations happening and Alan barely noticed it.

“Of course, Sarah. Bea, I’ll be right back, okay sweetie?” From what John had mentioned in passing, the name Bea and Beatrice had fallen out of fashion. Perhaps it was that hint of something familiar that made Alan look for the people speaking. 

If he hadn’t known that his heart was firmly in his chest, he would have sworn he was choking on it.

“She’s not going to do anything in the 10 minutes you’ll be gone!” Sarah Whaley snapped at her husband to hurry him out to the car. Alan could tell the woman was uncomfortable being in the hospital, as if it was embarrassing somehow. But this observation barely registered compared to the pounding throughout his entire body as he stared. 

Under the shadow of the imposing Mrs. Sarah Whaley stood a withered girl. She was pale, with deep circles under her eyes made more pronounced by her looking down and her long brown hair casting her face in shadow. As if that wasn’t enough she was skinny, her arms looked so thin that he couldn’t imagine her being able to hold much more than a fan. What had happened to her? There was no doubt that she had to be Beatrice, but what was she doing in his dream? Why did she look like that? In his dreams she always was vibrant and alive, in his nightmares cold and lifeless. But this, he didn’t know what this was anymore. 

“We’ll be going home soon, Beatrice.” Sarah was looking at her phone while she spoke, unaware that her daughter nodded in silent response. Beatrice brushed her hair from her face, looking positively miserable as she glanced around. 

He shouldn’t be walking toward her. This was a dream. This wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. He was going crazy; Beatrice was peacefully in bed down the hall from him in New York City. She wasn’t standing like a wilted flower ready to crumple at the slightest breeze. She wasn’t looking at him in what he knew was shocked recognition.

“Yes, Hercules, we’ll be home with Beatrice soon, I know she’ll be looking forward to seeing everyone-“ the words of a mother were lost in the frantic hammering in his chest as Beatrice recognized him, her face lighting up with a desperate smile as she stepped away from her mother. On her second step she wobbled, her face going from pale to sickly grey, and Alan grabbed her before she could hit the ground.

“Beatrice!” Sarah Whaley’s voice was hard to ignore, but it was background noise as Alan froze, unable to comprehend what was going on. Beatrice was here, in his dreams, but this felt so real, she felt solid and real and he could make out her muttering the same phrase over and over again into his chest as she clung to him: “You’re real, oh God, you’re really real.” Was Beatrice stuck in this dream as well? No, that couldn’t, that’d… how would that work? That didn’t make sense, they couldn’t both be sharing a dream. Beatrice wasn’t really here, this was just a dream, she was down the hall, sleeping peacefully back in 1776 in New York City. . . 

. . . without her memories.

Oh God Almighty.

“Beatrice? Dear? Darling?” the words of a frantic mother pulled Beatrice away from him and all he could do was stare as his mind turned over what had to be an impossible conclusion.

“I’maight mom…”Beatrice assured her mother, able to stand with minimal wobbling before her mother took her by the hand and waist.

“Your father should have the car out front by now. Let’s get you home so you can rest,” the words faded as Alan watched in dumb shock as Mrs. Whaley led her daughter away, Beatrice looking back with her eyes pinned on him. She didn’t take her eyes off him until her parents drove her out of sight.

“Hey, cuz! Ready for some lunch?” John slapped Alan on the back before staring at Alan awkwardly, “uh, Alan?”

“I met her. I think she was checked out of the hospital by her parents just now,” Alan mumbled, still looking at where he had last seen her.

“Who?”

“Beatrice Whaley.”


	4. Chapter 4

It made sense.

Actually, it made no sense at all.

Beatrice’s amnesia, her total loss of memory of her entire life up until Alan rescued her, was much like what Alan had experienced waking up in this dream. He knew his life, his childhood, and yet somehow he had woken up in a world that was totally foreign to him that insisted that he belonged in it. He remembered Beatrice admitting that not only did she not have any memories of her life, she also had no memories of simple things everyone should know. She didn’t remember how to dress herself, where to relieve herself, what the difference between a shilling and a pound was. It was like when he had first woken up, with no idea of how to use a strange card to pay for goods, or how to use the strange chamber pot John called a toilet. It seemed whatever amnesia that had afflicted Beatrice was now afflicting him.

But how could it be that he was suddenly waking up in a future life he had no memories of? It seemed the opposite had happened to her, she was suddenly waking up and remembering a life that was in what she thought was the past. He knew without a doubt that she belonged in the past, of course she did, how else would he have known her since she was 14. Those four years happened. But she had no memory of it. Was she remembering this world? Was this really the future? How was he in the future, where he had apparently been born and grown up according to his cousin. Beatrice had existed in his world even if she didn’t remember, and it seemed he had existed in hers even if he didn’t remember.

How? The only answer was Providence. Which left the unanswerable: why?

John had been shocked by Alan meeting Beatrice Whaley in this world, and had proceeded to look up on his phone all the names of the Whaley family that Alan could remember. Hercules Mulligan, Sarah Whaley, Tom Whaley, John Mulligan, even Benjamin Cato, they all existed. They all existed here. 

“You were never any good in history, I remember how terrible your grades were. And I know you aren’t interested in fine art, or the inner workings of Broadway. And you certainly wouldn’t know about students in a high school a few towns away from your farm. It’s not like you’d have a reason to go to a high school football game…” John had mused out loud, Alan couldn’t tell if John was even saying it for his benefit or not.

“Alright, it’s decided.” John said suddenly, clapping his hands and startling Alan.

“What?”

“You’re not crazy.”

“Thanks,” Alan scowled at that. He didn’t need his cousin to tell him that. Although, it did help his confidence.

“No, seriously, there is no way the Alan I know would have been able to know all these different people. The age difference means you wouldn’t have met them in school, and you don’t care about any of the professional fields of the adults. And, Al…” John leaned in and whispered as if he was confessing something he knew would upset his cousin, “you do know that she’s a senior in high school, she’s barely 18.”

“Of course I know her age.”

“But you’re like, painfully in love with her!”

“Yes?”

“That settles it. You are definitely from the 1700s if you think a 27 year old and an 18 year old are good to marry each other.” John grumbled as he dug into lunch.

“Why wouldn’t they? Oh…” John had a moment of hope in his eyes, as if he expected Alan’s next words to be recognition of why it would be weird, “this is why Beatrice was so surprised about my age. I wondered why she said it was illegal.”

John smacked his own face in exasperation before asking, “When did she say that?”

“After I rescued her from General Howe.”

“Yup, she’s from modern times. I imagine most 1776 girls wouldn’t bat an eyelash at marrying a man 9 years older than her when she’s still a teenager.”

“It never bothered her before I rescued her.”

“And you said that when you rescued her, she had no memory of the 1700s.”

“At first I thought it was her way of dealing with what… with whatever happened to her while she was prisoner. But now…”

“But now, she’s like you: someone who woke up in a different time with no explanation as to why.” Alan nodded as John summed it up more concisely than Alan was able to.

“There is a why, but only Providence knows it. But, you believe me now?” Someone believing him was reassuring, and somehow made the whole thing more real. Alan wasn’t insane anymore, someone else believed him.

“As much as a person can believe that his cousin somehow has memories from the 1700s and not the 1900s.”

“I’ll have to take what I can get.” Alan looked at his food as the discussion came down to a close.

“This calls for some booze tonight,” John muttered, glad to see Alan was finally eating and not ignoring his food anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Beatrice was quiet all day, keeping to herself and in her own world. She didn’t seem to notice Alan’s staring. He was relieved to see she was not thin and pale like she was in his dream. Or maybe the future. He really wasn’t sure anymore. But she did look particularly exhausted. 

As much as he idled and dawdled throughout the day he knew at some point he would need to speak to her. He had to know if she was sharing his dreams, if… if he was somehow waking up in her life and this was the dream to her. Perhaps he learned useful information as he wandered the city, but nothing he overheard or saw stuck in his mind as he continued to turn over last night’s dream in his head. It was bad for the mission, being sidetracked like this. The sooner he and Beatrice found out useful information for General Washington, the sooner the war could end, and the sooner they could go back to Boston. Back home. 

But was it home to Beatrice? She had no memories of her life in Boston in the 1700s. Was he really doing the right thing trying to get her back to a family she didn’t even remember and a life she never knew?

Alan managed to scrape together enough courage, or perhaps more accurately control his fear enough, to go out and sit with Beatrice after supper. She was sitting outside, watching the few people left on the street as they passed by the house. But her eyes and face looked up at Alan when he stood next to her, a pink blush on her face and what he guessed was confusion in her eyes.

“May, I, uh, may I sit down?” Alan asked but his body had already thumped down in an ungraceful plop next to her before he had finished his request. It brought a giggle to her lips but she nodded, even though he was already sitting.

“You look tired.” His pathetic attempt at conversation and subtly was, surprisingly, rewarded.

“I had a strange dream last night.” Perfect! Exactly what he wanted to hear from her! Err, wasn’t it?

“Aren’t dreams always strange?” Very tactful, he was the perfect spy, a master of secrecy! Or maybe he was just being an idiot and she was humoring him, he couldn’t tell as he tried to be as indirect as possible.

“I suppose. You were there.” 

“Are you saying I’m not always in your dreams?” He decided to tease and take offense, and he was rewarded with a smirk and a nudge from Bea.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.” Her smirk faded as she explained, but she was studying him, staring at him, look for something he didn’t know.

“Well, in that case, you were in my dreams last night as well, and you weren’t supposed to be there either!” Her nose crinkled and he recognized her expression, she knew something and she was feeling very clever for figuring whatever it was out.

“I suppose it would have been quite shocking to see me in your dreams.” Her voice was coy and leading and Alan was almost positive Beatrice did in fact share a dream with him. Or a future with him. Just not in the way he ever imagined a future with her. 

“After all, I’m sure you normally dream about dancing with Milly Weaver.” He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did Beatrice really not share a dream with him? He didn’t know if that was reassuring or not. Was he going crazy? What kind of lunatic dreams about waking up in the future with no idea of what is going on? 

“I’m joking!” Beatrice said after Alan’s silence lasted longer than she expected. Her nudge knocked him from his worries of insanity and he offered her an embarrassed smile. 

“Of… of course!” he managed to say as he regained control of his mouth. 

“I know what you were really dreaming about,” her tone was oddly suggestive, and he worried she was about to say something terribly unladylike and an insult to his morals as a respectable gentleman.

“You dreamed you saw me in a hospital with my parents.” The color drained from his face, a lump in his throat. Her playful expression turned serious as she looked at him, apparently seeing what is was she had been searching for, and she looked back at the street. 

In a terribly confused and upset state the Major did something he disliked doing: he retreated, unable to face the fray. As he reached the door to return inside he heard her say to him: “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The door closing behind him was enough to answer her.


	6. Chapter 6

Alan told his cousin over lunch about what had happened. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping John would believe him or try to convince him that he was insane. He didn’t know which was better anymore. Nothing made any sense anymore, and he couldn’t see why this of all things was happening to him. Or to Beatrice. Or both of them. 

What did make sense was sitting on his porch, looking over his apple orchard. Strange how in the span of 200 years and two apparently different lifetimes, he still had his apples. At least that didn’t change. It was familiar, it was his, and it was home.

The car driving onto his property was not familiar, and he watched it until it rolled to a stop near his house. He didn’t know if he was surprised when Beatrice stepped out of the car, or if he was expecting her. 

“Do you know me?” she called to him, walking from her car up to the steps of his porch.

“This is my dream, Beatrice, why else would you be here?”

“This isn’t a dream, Alan, this is real.” She was serious, standing on the dirt before the steps of the porch, looking at him with all the stubbornness he knew she had.

“I was born in 1749, I am a Major in the rebel army serving under General Washington. This world can’t possibly be real.” Although being in a world where he wasn’t involved in a war was not an idea he objected.

“And I was born in 1989, it’s not possible for me to be the daughter of a Tory and a spy for General Washington!” 

“Bea, this isn’t real. Even if you did believe that, it’s because you lost your memories.” Despite telling himself that she wasn’t really Beatrice, he still found himself arguing with her. As if he could win an argument with her in real life, if he won this argument then he would know he was dreaming.

“And you remember your life here?” He said nothing and she pressed on. “What did you do, wake up suddenly one day in this world? And every night since you keep waking up here wherever you left off?”

“There is no way this is real.” This time his words held less certainty.

“Why not? Yesterday I told you what your ‘dream’ was, you saw me leaving the hospital. I know that was you. And I know that I am right.” He said nothing, there was nothing to say. Logically, this world couldn’t be real. But logically, Bea should not have been able to know what his dream was unless she was also in his dream somehow.

“Alan, I thought it was a dream too. It was fun, waking up in a dream being delightfully kissed by a rugged man in uniform. It was exciting and certainly more interesting than being a senior in high school.” Her abrasive and direct approach leading to silence, she decided to try explaining and sympathizing. She hadn’t believed it was real either, at least not at first.

“And what convinced you it was real, then?” He wanted to be convinced, whether it was convinced he was right or wrong, he just wanted to know. She was silent for several moments, thinking hard and staring him down.

“Do you know who bullied me in first grade?”

“What? No-“

“Who was my partner in Chemistry?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was the first play I acted in?”

“How should I know? What are these questions?” The nonsensical questions and the surety with which she asked them were unnerving, and he doesn’t understand what the purpose of them was.

“You can’t answer those questions.”

“Of course, how would I be able to? Those questions make no sense!” Clearly that was exactly what she wanted him to say, as she was pressing on before he had finished speaking.

“If I was a figment of your imagination you would know. Your dream would fill in the gaps, and you would know the answers because you would be inventing me in your dream as it went on. But you can’t answer those questions, because my existence is not dependent on you. Which means, I must exist independently of you. Cogito, ergo sum. I cannot be a dream, and if I am not a dream then this world must be as real as I am as we both exist as real figures in it.”

He stared at her in stunned silence, her determined expression mingled with triumph as she seemed to be able to see the motions of his thoughts and his surrender.

“I’ll admit, the Beatrice Whaley I know would not be able to come up with that on her own, nor could I.”

“I didn’t, Nathan Hale did. He’s the one who convinced me that everything that was happening in 1776 was in fact real, whether it made sense or not.” 

Nathan Hale. The name brought back a wound Alan thought he had sewn shut, and he could see Bea was also hurt remembering their lost friend. 

“This is real.” The admission made Beatrice relax and smile, glad that the hard part was over. It made him feel better as well, and he allowed himself off his porch to stand closer to her as they spoke.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to slap you to convince you.” 

“This is the world you know?” He gestured at the horizon, with all the strange sights and sounds and buildings that were not from his time. 

“Yes. When did you start waking up in this world?”

“The night we got to New York.”

She tilted her head and thought for a moment before muttered, “strange.”

“All of this is strange.”

“Yes, but that’s when I started being unable to wake up here.”

“You weren’t able to wake up in this time anymore?”

“I put myself into a coma.” Her nonchalant manner about being in a coma was frightening to him at best. 

“What? Why? Is that why you were at the hospital?”

“I… I thought if I could fall asleep, I could warn someone and save Nathan but… I was too late. When I woke up from the coma I was held in the psychiatric ward. They thought it was a suicide attempt, and trying to convince people I was traveling back in time when I slept didn’t help my case either.” Her cheeks were tinged pink, but he didn’t think it was because of embarrassment over being held in a psychiatric ward. Did she feel guilt over not being able to save Nathan?

“Wait, you left the hospital yesterday, what are you doing here? You should be resting!” The thought popped into his head and out of his mouth before he could form a proper sentence concerning Nathan.

“I… umm… well my parents didn’t want me to go to school right after getting out of the hospital, they thought it’d be best to give me a few days of rest at home so they could watch me.” This time she was red from embarrassment.

“Then why aren’t you at home?”

“My parents are both busy with work, and I looked for you on the internet and found the farm and the address and- I just had to know! I had to know if it was really you that I saw! I had to know if you were real! And not just in the Revolutionary War, I had to know if you were real here, in this time.” 

“Bea…” he stepped closer to her as she began to ramble, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“And to be fair! This is far less dramatic and dangerous than rescuing you from General Howe’s own ship! The only danger was the traffic and idiot drivers on the road.” She tried to laugh and joke and play it off as he moved ever closer to her.

“Bea.” He whispered her name, but the quiet word was enough to silence her and make her look up at him, earnest and expectant. 

He leaned down to her face, his hand cupping her face, and stared into her eyes, glistening with tears of relief. But his slow and gentle, not to mention terribly romantic, approach was brought to a swift and desperate end when Bea’s hand reached behind his head and she rushed into him. This was no longer dreamy, possibly not real kiss, or a bewildered but willing kiss in a rushed moment. Bea had consumed him, and he was more than ready to embrace this passion.

He was surprised by her intensity, but he was also flattered that even by her mind she only knew him for a few weeks she also clearly and desperately loved him as much as he loved her.

Before he truly had control of his senses she was pressed up against him. Her hands were wrapped through his long hair, her tongue on his lips, her body pushing into his own. And he returned her movements, drawing her in closer, tighter. Because she was real, this was real, no dream could be this vivid. No dream he had ever had could hold this much passion, a single person couldn’t contain it. Her smell, her taste, her feel, her whispering his name into him.

“I’m going to marry you, Beatrice Whaley,” his declaration when they parted to look at each other and pant made her grin, mischief in her eyes.

“Whatever will I tell my parents?”

“That I am a man who loves their daughter eternally.” While he was being completely serious, he could see that she was still lighthearted about this conversation.

“Best to keep you a secret, for now, for fear they’ll think I’m doing this out of insanity and send me back.”

“You’ll have to tell them eventually.” He did not want her to think that he was not being completely serious, and his insistent gaze made her pause and nod.

“I’ll ease them into it.”

“I can talk-“ his suggestion dissolved into a gasp as Beatrice planted a hard kiss on his neck. 

“Damn your passion, girl,” he groaned, gripping her tighter and grinding into her in a most ungentlemanly fashion. 

“People don’t wait until marriage these days, and birth control is very effective,” she informed him a matter of fact tone, her hot breath teasing his neck just as much as her fluttering lips and tongue over his skin.

“I’m not from these days.” He managed to pull away, thankful that she let him as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I know.” Before she could say more Alan returned the taunting favor, kissing her neck once, twice, thrice, again and again slowly moving down from her jawline to her collar bones.

“Don’t keep me a secret for long.” He was sure that the quivering he felt was from her as she melted in his arms under his lips. Of course, a great deal of it was also thanks to her effects on him, but he wouldn’t admit that. 

“I’ll think of something.” Her concession brought an end to his temptations upon her, but he did not let go of her as he looked down at the young woman in his arms.

“I do believe you have positively ruined my life, Mr. Warren,” she grinned up at him, beautiful and red and teasing.

“Then I believe we are even, Miss Whaley.”


End file.
